Gemotions

The coffee machine gurgled, a sound that typically signified the start of the day. But this morning, it just sounded like another intrusion. He watched Michael, across the small office, preening for the manager, his posture perfect, his smile too wide.

He felt the familiar surge of something acidic rising within him. He slammed his fist down on the counter, startling himself. The ceramic mug in his hand wobbled precariously. He grabbed it, gripping it so tightly his knuckles turned white.

He felt a sudden, almost overwhelming urge to throw the mug, to shatter the manufactured calm of the office. He inhaled slowly and placed the mug down, and stormed out, barely acknowledging the manager.